Chapters (87)
- Cover
- Praise
- Dedication
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Fifty-Seven
- Fifty-Eight
- Fifty-Nine
- Sixty
- Sixty-One
- Sixty-Two
- Sixty-Three
- Sixty-Four
- Sixty-Five
- Sixty-Six
- Sixty-Seven
- Sixty-Eight
- Sixty-Nine
- Seventy
- Seventy-One
- Seventy-Two
- Seventy-Three
- Seventy-Four
- Seventy-Five
- Seventy-Six
- Seventy-Seven
- Seventy-Eight
- Seventy-Nine
- Eighty
- Epilogue
- Acknowledgements
- Extract from To Keep You Safe
- About the Author
But despite it all, I still missed my husband. I missed his large hands rubbing my back when I was upset; I missed his pragmatic way of looking at things; I missed his logos to my pathos. But I wasn’t going to stand in this empty ’70s box with Jack looking at me with large blue eyes, waiting for me to react to what we had lost.
‘Well, this is good, isn’t it!’ I had to be bright about this because we were only here because I wanted us to be – because I thought it was right.
I took hold of his hand and led him round the flat, but I didn’t linger in the bathroom because it had no window, and its brown dirge colour scheme made me feel like my life was so far off its rails it couldn’t even see where it’d left the tracks.
But this was somewhere safe, where no one knew us, and I had to be strong. It didn’t matter that my nerves were still gossamer thin from yet more tears from Jack. I didn’t blame him – he was five and understood that he’d left his home forever.
It was all so terrible.
Poor Jack, my heart bled for him. I looked at my little boy standing by the back door. I knew there was an alleyway that ran down the side of the flat, and it led to the high street one way, and the flat’s small yard the other way. He looked pale and I thought: I’ll show him the yard. I wished it was a garden, but there was no pretending that it was anything more than a barren, six-metre-square paved concrete area.
‘Jack, there’s a yard out back – do you want to see it? I thought we could grow tomato—’
‘No!’ His hands had balled to fists. He took a step forward. With his eyes narrowed, he looked just like his dad.
‘Jack . . .’ My tone was at best placatory, but I didn’t have any words. He was owed a tantrum. What could I tell him?
‘I want Daddy.’
I forced myself to breathe in. And then out. ‘We’ve talked about—’
Jack started crying. ‘I want Daddy, please, Mummy, please.’
People talk about their hearts breaking, and right there, I felt physical pain. ‘Daddy is fine and safe and well but we just can’t see him at the moment because . . .’
Jack looked around the kitchen area and I saw it through his eyes. The Formica worktop was scratched and chipped. The window above the single full run of cabinets overlooked the dark alley, and only the bobbly privacy glass was softened by a fat-splatted blind.
‘It looks a bit unfriendly here, but we’ll cheer it up. We’ll make it home.’
‘But what about Daddy? Is this because of what Daddy did?’